


Pleasure Is Spread Through the Earth

by BlueFennec



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Blind Character, Canon Disabled Character, Catholic Character, Dancing, Gen, How Do I Tag, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prayer, Rain, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Senses, happiness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3974713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueFennec/pseuds/BlueFennec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good things that Matt's super senses have given him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tomatoes

**Author's Note:**

> Daredevil Kink Meme fill.  
> Prompt: "10 good things that Matt super senses have given him. Can be anything from a fantastic apreciation for fruit or really good orgasms."

He had hated tomatoes when he was a kid. They were on everything, but there just was nothing to them, just skin and goo and water. He'd always pushed them on his father, who professed to like them, put only ever put them on his sandwiches covered in way too much butter and salt.

Once he had brought himself to try them again, after the accident, he had gotten hooked. Now, he just couldn't get enough of them, exactly because the taste wasn't assaulting, just enough to roll through his mouth and nose, little enough to not be overwhelming. He could tell them apart like fine wines, always had at least three varieties around, when he could afford it, some rich and firm, some soft and sweet and subtle, and he could never quite wait for the summer harvest. He always bought the first ones too early, and laughed at himself when his tongue met unexpected tanginess.

Those tomatoes were always Foggy's, who had stopped wondering about the annual gift, and just put them on sandwiches covered in way too much butter and salt.


	2. Summer Rain

Rain gently knocked on the windows of their dorm room. Foggy's face fell, and Matt's smile grew wider and wider. He had to contain himself to not jump out of his chair and just run outside, and instead take his cane first and go slowly.

He loved summer rain, the gentle drizzle that barely felt cold, yet soaked you through so thoroughly that you might as well have fallen into a pool. He loved the tingle on his bare arms, and the petrichor on the air, but everyone could feel and smell that. What he he loved even more was what the rain did to the world – just for him.

The small drops muted far sounds, made the campus a smaller, more private place. He could trace the smallest objects, now, everything almost perfectly outlined by the moving water, from the couple running for shelter to the leafs of the trees above them. He could always sense people, by their hearts and their voices and steps, but it took a day like this to know from his spot in front of the dorm that the bench down the road was missing one of its wooden boards, or that someone had forgotten a book there. It was the closest to seeing again that he ever got, and what he saw on these days was not a world on fire, but one dipped in molten gold.


	3. Rosary

“Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name...”

The first bead had a small dent facing towards the cross. It was part of the structure of the wood, rose, the smell of it too faint to register for anyone but him under a thousand touches.

“Hail Mary, full of grace...”

Faith, hope, and charity were cut from the same twig. He knew their grain by heart, could have found them in a million.

“Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit...”

The last of the large beads always made him stumble a bit, tripped his thumb with a nick in its upper left. He had dug his nail into the soft wood a little too hard, once. He still remembered why he had been praying that day.

“Hail Mary, full of grace...”

He moved on, and could tell the right Hail Mary by the texture of each bead. Mary's promises were so tied to the not-so-smooth wood between his fingertips that touching them seemed to be enough to hear them whisper.

“...and blessed be the fruit of thy womb, Jesus, who was announced to you by Gabriel...” _I promise my special protection and the greatest graces to all those who shall recite the rosary..._ “...who rose from the dead...” _All who recite the rosary are my sons, and brothers of my only son Jesus Christ..._

If Matt held on to something often enough, the familiarity with the object became almost intimate, and with that intimacy came security. With the exception of his cane, there was hardly anything Matt held onto quite as often as this. It was cliché, and he knew it, but his perception of the world had strengthened his faith along with his sense of touch, and made it, more than ever, a blanket for the soul.


	4. Dancing

One of the first things Stick had taught him was that, even excluding their specific extras, human beings had more than five senses. Depending on what and how you counted, you could come up somewhere between nine and twenty of them. The one non-traditional sense that Stick had pushed him into honing the most was equilibrioception – position, balance, acceleration, movement, direction. The goal of those lessons was crystal clear: Matt was going to be a weapon, a soldier, and he needed perfect command over his body for that. Matt kept this sense sharp, trained it day by day, even after Stick had long left him behind. There were uses for it well beyond his training, and not all of them would have met his old mentor's approval.

This particular use was one of them, and something only Foggy knew about. He had known about it long before they ever talked about Matt's enhanced senses, and even now that he knew, he didn't attribute it to them.

Matt could dance like a young god, and he enjoyed it thoroughly.

He never did it in public, pretended to be awkward with ballroom dances, always forcing his date to lead for the sake of plausibility. When he was alone, though... Fighting and dancing had much in common, they made use of the same strengths and weaknesses in his muscles and joints, took the same type and amount of concentration. He loved that, but the real attraction sprung from the differences. Fighting brought his surroundings into focus, gave them an acrid immediacy. Dancing let them blur and fall away, put the focus down to a rhythm and his own body. It was meditation in motion.

Foggy had caught him red-handed, spinning on the ball of his left foot, so taken up by the music and the movement that he had missed the sound of the key turning in the lock, and continued to completely miss the fact that Foggy was standing right there with him, staring with his mouth wide open. “Damn, buddy. If the lawyering doesn't work out, you got a career right there.”

Teaching him enough to impress the girls had bought him Foggy's silence. In turn, he had someone he could share this with, and who would watch the gym door when he needed more space to get lost in.


	5. Pebbles

Sometimes, when everything became too much, and both fighting and dancing were out of question, Matt would simply take off his shoes and walk. The soles of his feet, almost always protected, were among the most sensitive spots on his body, and he could make use of that. The ground beneath them would demand his undivided attention, without fail.

When he had trained with Stick, he had often spend the little free time he'd had like this: Getting to know the world in textures, step by step. He tried anything he could find, figuring out likes and dislikes.

Grass was fantastic when it was long, he could make out each blade, wet and soft. Freshly mowed, though, it cut and bit, and he'd be back on the nearest bit of stone or asphalt as quickly as he could jump. Asphalt itself was rough as sandpaper, but alright if he stepped carefully. Marble was like almost nothing, so smooth he even dared to drag his heels over it here and there.

Pebbles were an acquired taste. As a kid, he'd hated them, they seemed to shove at him from all the wrong angles, he couldn't stand what they did to his balance. Now that he was taller and heavier, they still pushed into his feet just the tiniest bit too much, but his weight held them down, and they grounded him in turn. Enough pressure for distraction, not enough for pain. Tactile white noise, a counterpoint to the din of the world around him.


	6. Fall

The days were getting shorter and colder, and all the people who had crowded the park on warm summer days now stayed home. Only a few, who didn't mind the unsteady weather and the cold, were talking long, slow walks. Matt sat on a bench in the center, and observed.

There was something of everything, here, but nothing too much. Fall here smelled of overripe fruit and trees ready to shed their leafs, sounded like their rustling and shifting. Smelled and sounded and felt like summer's last campfires. It was almost unreal how distant the city seemed to be, and how close he felt to the people here, steps and heartbeats muffled by thick jacket, wide-spread and few enough to easily keep track of, never feeling like a threat. There was life here, but none of the pushing and shoving, none of the hectic frenzy.

It was almost silence, and very much peace.


	7. Foggy

Matt was a very physical person, always had been. It was in his family, and his training. It’s why he loved the fight and the rush of it, why he couldn’t keep the devil inside - sometimes, despite all lessons learned, his body led the way, and his mind followed. Only that it wasn’t just in fights - for personal experiences, for real connections, he preferred touch over his other senses. So many times, his body knew before his mind did. There were occasions when he literally needed to grasp something to form an opinion. To know if something felt right, it had to _feel_ right.

He had first taken Foggy for a more visual oriented type, the way he went on about the looks of people and places, auditory, maybe, the way he kept chatting about everything and nothing. More intellectual than physical. He had, of course, been wrong, and he had learned that after less than a month. That was about the time when Foggy had realised that Matt considered it alright when Foggy touched him, and when Matt had realised that Foggy was just as alright with being touched. Pats on the back, hugs for greetings and goodbyes. Matt taking Foggy’s elbow, Foggy leaning on Matt dead drunk. Foggy taking Matt’s hand - _here, let me show you_ \- and the other way around - _dot on the bottom right means the next one’s a capital letter..._

Of course, all of that happened with other people, too, but Foggy and he just clicked. There had never been any awkwardness beyond that first week in the dorm, none of the clumsiness of “Is it alright if I…?” and “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

If he’d had to choose between his relationship with Foggy, as it was, and seeing again Matt would have been hard pressed to come to a decision. A purely theoretical exercise of course, but not completely unfounded: Their friendship was very much informed by that physical connection and its ease. Of course, it also would have been if Matt’s senses hadn’t been as acute, but had he been sighted, they probably wouldn’t have bothered to find this… trust. Intimacy. 

Whatever it was - it felt right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. Will probably stay this slow - but you WILL get the whole thing eventually. :)


End file.
